


The Second Triwizard Tournament

by BlasphemousProphet



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 03:54:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1536590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlasphemousProphet/pseuds/BlasphemousProphet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Potterlock, taking place at Hogwarts during the Second Triwizard Tournament. Johnlock, obviously. Enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Second Triwizard Tournament

James Moriarty was tall and handsome, with glittering mocking eyes. He was from an old, wealthy, dark wizarding family, just like Sherlock, from Durmstrang brought in for the Triwizard Tournament. Rumor had it Sherlock's grandfather had been a deatheater. Sherlock spent hours with him cooped up in his room, annoying Mycroft so much he was forced to find John, the only person Sherlock might have listened to, and ask him to speak to Sherlock.   
John knocked on Sherlock's door. "Come in," said Sherlock quickly, jumping up to open the door. He knew it would be John. He hadn't seen as much of John these days, ever since John had started going out with Sarah, but he knew Mycroft would be too alarmed by this newest development to not speak to John.   
Moriarty was lounging on Sherlock's bed, wearing a thin undershirt, surrounded by piles of experimental debris. He was trailing his fingers sensuously back and forth in Sherlock's sheets.   
"Hello," said John awkwardly.   
"You know Moriarty, don't you? Moriarty, John, John, Moriarty," said Sherlock.  
"So this is John," murmured Moriarty. "Hello, John."  
"Hi," said John. "Sherlock, can I speak to you? Alone?"  
"He's cute! I like this one," declared Moriarty, grinning.   
"Certainly," said Sherlock, walking assuredly out of the room. Sherlock had gotten taller, thought John. He realized with a pang that Sherlock wasn't a little boy anymore, easily amused by his talk of batteries and stories about Batman. Sherlock needed considerably more to amuse him now. Maybe he was just getting bored of John...maybe Moriarty was John's replacement. John couldn't wait for the Tournament to be over, so Durmstrang could go back to where they belonged. John had to look up to meet Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock almost certainly already knew what he was going to say but he had to get it out anyways.   
"So is Moriarty a new friend?" he asked, trying not to sound jealous.   
"I don't think Moriarty would consider himself that," said Sherlock languidly.   
"Is he a new enemy?"  
"Perhaps."  
Then why is he in your room, on your bed, looking like he's been there forever? John thought angrily.   
"Sherlock, I don't like him."  
"You don't...like him," said Sherlock, pretending to ponder this new development.  
"You know I don't! He's bad for you. He's descended from-"  
"From what, John?"  
John paused. Should he say it? There was an explosion from inside the room.   
"Sherlock! You're needed in here!" Moriarty called, laughing.   
"Even Victor Trevor was better than this!" John snapped, remembering the day he had seen Sherlock leaned over Trevor and kissing him with fervor and how he had felt after seeing that.   
"What?" said Sherlock, looking legitimately surprised.  
The door opened and Moriarty reached for Sherlock's arm comfortably. "Honey, get in here," he said in a syrupy sweet tone. "John, such a pleasure. Do come by again. Sherlock, the potion is exploding."  
"Exploding? John, I'm sorry, I have to go. This experiment has been weeks in the making."  
"But-"   
Sherlock walked back into his room and Moriarty slowly closed the door.   
"He's adorable," John heard Moriarty say from the other side of the door. "Like your own private house elf."  
"Don't be ridiculous," said Sherlock.   
John stormed away, his cheeks colored a violent red. He was late to Quidditch practice and Sherlock clearly didn't need him.

"Who are you taking to the Yule ball?" asked Mike. "Did you ask Violet yet?"  
"Not yet," sighed Bill. "She's probably already going with Greg."  
"We'll all go alone together," said Mike. "represent the Gryffindor bachelors."  
"Oi! John, you're not taking anyone, right?""  
John jerked upwards from his hiding spot covered by couch cushions in the corner of the common room.   
"What?"  
"You're not taking anyone, are you?" repeated Bill.  
"Oh...no."  
"You're not asking Sarah?"  
"Sarah?"  
"your sort of girlfriend? The hot future healer? Who you snog after Quidditch games?"  
"That was one time!" said John.   
They had beat Ravenclaw sixteen to four. John was getting off his broom and wiping his hands on his pants when Sarah ran down from the beachers and kissed him in a decidedly unSarahlike fashion that made Mike cover his face while Bill watched avidly and applauded. John had never kissed anyone before, but she had placed her hands around his neck and wrapped herself around him and it had been quite nice. He found himself walking away from the game with one hand on her back and the other hand clutching his broom while Sarah beamed and he reminded himself that Sherlock never went to Quidditch games, not even his.   
"I wish I had your luck," groaned Mike.  
"So you're asking Sarah?" asked bill. "Abandoning us?"  
"let's go to dinner before Bill dies of jealousy," said Mike. "The cup drawing is tonight, anyways. If that prat Carl Powers is picked then I won't go to the Yule Ball at all. I don't want to see his stupid face representing the school."

"And..from Beaxbaxtons we have Irene Adler!" said Professor Moody grumpily. It was his last year before retirement and of course that meant the Triwizard Tournament had to happen before he left. The pomp and circumstance were idiotic and with all the new little gits Durmstrang was pumping out, it was bound to be the most dangerous one yet. Which wasn't necessarily a bad thing, Moody reconsidered.   
An extremely attractive girl stood up and glided to the front of the room, bowed and took the egg Moody proffered and disappeared into the champions' waiting room to the tune of whistling and cat calls.  
"And...from Durmstrang we have James Moriarty!" mumbled Moody, his voice magically carrying all around the room. There was silence as no one rose. "Is he not here?" demanded moody. "Can somebody find James Moriarty, for god's sake!"  
Mycroft stood and silently left the room.   
"And from Hogwarts we have John Watson," moody yelled, snatching the last slip of paper the cup shot out. The Gryffindor table erupted in cheers but no one stood. "Could he also not be bothered to show up?" snapped Moody. Finally three people rose, Mike and Bill pushing john towards the front of the room. With one last pat on the back from Greg Lestrade, John walked to the front of the room, acutely conscious of everyone's eyes on him. Moody grabbed him by the sweater and dragged him into the champions' room, slamming the door behind them.   
"Does anyone know where james Moriarty is?" asked Moody, pacing in front of them.   
John mumbled something about Sherlock holmes, to Irene Adler's apparent interest.   
"Did you say Holmes?" she asked.  
There was a knock at the door.  
"What!" roared moody. "Myroft Holmes with James Moriarty," said a calm voice. The door opened just long enough for Mycroft to shove a smug looking rumpled Moriarty into the room and then closed again before john could see Mycroft's face.

"I hope you're decent because I'm coming in," snapped Mycroft. He opened the door to find an unrepentant Moriarty wiping his mouth while Sherlock Holmes looked for his shoes. "You're needed downstairs," Mycroft said to Moriarty. "You might want to come too, Sherlock. You might find it interestin to learn that John Watson has been selected for the Triwizard Tournament."  
"John?" asked Sherlock to a suddenly empty room. "But that tournament is dangerous! Students have died!"  
Sherlock wanted to rush downstairs and snatch John away but then he remembered that John no longer needed him anymore. like a failed experiment, Sherlock was being tossed away. Sherlock pulled his trunk out from under his bed and rummaged around in it until he found Bill, his old skull. He carefully set it down on his nighttable and lay down on his bed. he was destined to be a lonely man, he had always knwn that, but he had never truly understood the meaning of the word until that very moment. his room felt desolate. Sherlock Holmes pulled on his black coat and abruptly left.

"So..." drawled Moriarty. "Looks like its going to be just us three."  
Irene and John were silent. Then Irene looked at John and said, "You must introduce me to Sherlock Holmes sometime."  
"Oh, I don't know-" muttered John.   
"I could introduce you," said Moriarty.   
"Excellent!" said Irene. "Good night. May the best man win!"  
"And we all know who that is!" Moriarty yelled down the hall after her.  
"Is Johnny boy feeling a wee bit jealous? Someone else is kissing Sherlock on the neck and rumpling those luxurious curls...holy fuck! You haven't done any of that yet! He doesn't even know! Look at your face!" Moriarty roared with laughter. John flushed a deep red.   
"It's not-"  
"Don't worry, sweet pea. Your secret is safe with me." Moriarty stroked John's cheek and strolled away. John clenched his fists.

"Where is John?" Sherlock demanded.  
"With the other champions, I assume," said Bill coldly.   
"I haven't seen him," said Mike. "You could wait here."  
Sherlock glanced around at the stares he was attracting in front of the Fat Lady's portrait.   
"Password, please," trilled the Fat Lady.   
"Excuse me," said Greg Lestrade, coming up from behind Sherlock. "John's down that hallway."  
Sherlock whirled away without another word.   
"John!" Sherlock yelled.   
"What are you doing here? Are you insane?"  
"My sanity is in pristine condition, unlike yours, last I checked."  
"What are you talking about?"  
Sherlock grabbed John's arm and forced them both to the floor.   
"You must drop out of the tournament, John. Students have died."  
"I'm not going to drop out."  
"Is this that legendary Gryffindor stupidity I'm hearing?"  
"I was picked! They must think I can do it!"  
"I think you can do it too," said Sherlock quietly. "I just don't want you to."  
"Are you worried?" asked John incredulously.   
"Let me help you," said Sherlock abruptly. "I'll figure out the egg-"  
"Are you worried?" John repeated.  
"Some spells above your rudimentary knowledge and maybe some runes as well..."  
"Why are you bothering?"  
"What do you mean?"  
"Irene Adler's been asking about you, Moriarty cornered me after Moody left, Trevor's been shooting me dirty glances since he stopped seeing you, yes, I know about that, you're not as secretive as you think, and for someone without friends-"  
"I don't have friends," said Sherlock. "I only have one."  
John was shocked into silence.   
"Irene knows my family and my...reputation, Trevor was a finished experiment and Moriarty is...temporary," Sherlock added. "I find you intensely more fascinating than Moriarty any day, despite Moriarty's supposed genius and physical prowess."  
John could have stayed in the hallway all night with Sherlock, a warm feeling curling up inside him and taking up camp, listening to Sherlock talk about runes and protective measures John should take but Mycroft was patrolling the hallways and sent them both to bed. By the time John got to his room he realized Sherlock had already taken the egg.  
"Sherlock was asking about you," mumbled Bill into his blanket. "Freaked out Lestrade."  
"I know," said John.  
"What are you smiling about?"  
"Just...chuffed, I guess."

"I don't want you talking to John," said Sherlock.  
"Are you serious?" Moriarty gasped.   
"Don't be so dramatic. Its the easiest thing to do, I think."T  
"You're ridiculous," said Moriarty, trailing a hand down Sherlock's chest and into his pants. "But I like you anyway."  
They fell into bed together and stopped talking.  
"Is that John's egg?" Moriarty asked, letting go of Sherlock.   
"Hmm," said a debauched sounding Sherlock, pushing himself against Moriarty with a groan.   
"I have to help him," Sherlock got out. "He's competing against you, after all."  
"I'm flattered," said Moriarty. "But now so are you."  
"I just have to..." trailed off a deflated Sherlock.   
"Shut up, you stupid genius," said Moriarty. "No shop talk at night. I can't hear about holy precious John anymore."  
"Don't criticize John."  
"Shh..."  
"This is illegal in nine countries."  
"We're dangerous people. dark wizards and all."  
"No rules...oh! Ohhh..."  
"Keep talking to me," whispered Moriarty.   
In the throes of passion, neither of them realized they were speaking Parseltongue.

"He's sleeping," whispered Moriarty, bumping into John in the hallway.   
"It's the middle of the day!"  
"Shh. I just got up," yawned Moriarty. John eyed Moriarty's rumpled hair, tie askew, a fresh bruise on his neck and felt oddly irritated. After last night's conversation, he hadn't thought...  
John entered the room silently and sat on the edge of Sherlock's bed, watching him sleep the way Sherlock had in the hospital wing their first year at Hogwarts. He still looked elegant and poised somehow, even squashed in a tiny bed, spread out and shifting sleepily. John's egg was on Sherlock's dresser and there were notes scrawled near it in Sherlock's incomprehensible handwriting. How the hell did Sherlock have the time to research the egg and have wild sex with Moriarty for hours at the same time? John paged through the papers fondly as Sherlock watched him sleepily.   
"I think I've got it," said Sherlock.  
"You're awake," said John, turning to face Sherlock, the light hitting his face just so, lighting his blonde hair on fire, so Sherlock could barely look directly at him. John did not know where to sit. Was the bed sacred now? Did Sherlock care?  
"Have a seat," said Sherlock, pointing to the end of the bed.   
"So Moriarty was here last night," John said finally.  
"John," said Sherlock seriously. "I have something to tell you. I think I might be gay."  
There was a pause and they both burst into hysterical laughter.  
"With the harem of guys you have chasing after you, I would be shocked if you weren't," snickered John.  
"Exactly," said Sherlock, whose stomach hurt from laughter and exhaustion.   
"Go back to sleep," said John suddenly. "I'm keeping you up."  
"That's alright," said Sherlock.  
John closed the curtains as Sherlock obediently climbed back into bed.   
"I don't want to change anything," said John, knowing that he was already lying.   
"Things change all the time," said Sherlock, looking directly at John.

"For a budding psychopath-"  
"High functioning sociopath-"  
"You certainly do have some messy personal affairs," said Mycroft. "I'll send a house elf in here to clean up. And I hope that isn't John's egg I see over there because cheating is certainly grounds for disqualification-"  
"It isn't his."  
"Good," said Mycroft, but he was smiling. "You can handle your own messy affairs now. You're taller than me. You're going to get a perfect score on your N.E.W.Ts just like I did. I'm proud of you."  
"What am I supposed to say to that?"  
"Merry Christmas, Sherlock."

"Sarah, can I talk to you for a second?" asked John, drawing her away from a group of giggling girls that included Harry.   
"Please don't ask me to the ball," she said. "I'm already going with someone."  
"Oh. Right. That's okay, I guess..." said John.   
"It's just that you waited so long to ask me I didn't think you really wanted to," said Sarah, looking at her hands.  
"I wanted to," said John. "It's just been..."  
Sarah's touch on his arm was featherlight. "Don't worry about it," she said. "Save a dance for me, okay?"  
John wanted to weep. He felt he was saying goodbye to a choice he never even wanted.   
"Of course," he said, knowing he wouldn't.

He had made a choice. It was time to act upon his decision. He opened Sherlock's door and Sherlock ambushed him with a gentle kiss on the cheek.   
"I did it," he whispered in John's ear. John's whole body was on fire. He looked at Sherlock. Sherlock was so abnormally tall and weird, speaking like a pirate one moment and a science teacher the next. He looked so vulnerable waiting for John's reaction, his hair flopping onto his face, still wearing his pajamas, that John could hardly bear to look at him. And those delicate fingers, nervously stuffed into a pocket of a dressing gown. So much grace and elegance in such an irritating, obnoxious package.   
"Get off me," said John. "I just came for the egg, you prat."  
John had never seen Sherlock frozen. He went from a person to a statue in a five seconds. John took the egg and left the plans. Sherlock handed them to him with a shaking hand. John pushed them away. "I don't need you!" he yelled, feeling overheated and terrible. "I can do this without you!"  
Sherlock didn't move or blink. "Fine, I'll take them," snapped John, grabbing a handful of pages and crumpling them into a ball to put in his pocket. He pushed past Sherlock and headed for the door. "Don't come to my dormitory, don't find me in the lunch room, don't wait for me after my Quidditch games!" As John said it, he realized Sherlock never did any of these things. "Don't ever fucking talk to me again! You and your dark wizard shit!"  
The door slammed and Sherlock felt like he had been snapped in half.

The first challenge was the next day and John was panicking. Alone in his room he paced back and forth. He was going to die tomorrow. It was almost definite. Unless...with a sudden jolt John remembered Sherlock's notes. He retrieved them and uncreased them. Pages worth of defensive spells and what they did were carefully written out, the goal and challenge of the event was written and there was a picture of the dragon he would battle torn from a book on the last page. On the last page Sherlock had written a note to him: John. I don't want to worry you before your event but I cannot let you possibly face death (practice the spells and read this later, idiot!) without telling you that I am sorry for Moriarty and Trevor. I was waiting for you. I am waiting for you. Sherlock Holmes.   
John felt a tsunami of guilt rip through his body and engulf him. Dropping the papers, he closed his eyes and tried not to cry.

"You're not going to the challenge?"  
"No, Mycroft, I am not."  
"You and John had a falling out."  
"Your deductions are astounding."  
"John is a good friend."  
"Is no more."  
"Sherlock-"  
"Mycroft, I'm not going, not for Moriarty, for Irene Adler and certainly not for John Watson!"

"Pity you don't have Sherlock Holmes fighting your battles for you anymore," sneered Moriarty. John's nerves were too far gone to reply. "I saw him last night and he told me-"  
"Shut up!" snapped Irene.   
John knew only one of Sherlock's spells. He had been too guilty to sleep and had spent all night futilely trying to memorize the papers without looking at them. The crowds were cheering. Bill, Mike and Sarah were all there. He descended, wand out, and was almost immediately mauled by the dragon.

There was a knock at Sherlock's door, opened to find Mike Stamford standing there.   
"John was injured," Mike said softly. "He wants you."  
"I shall have to pass up this incredibly exciting offer," said Sherlock flatly. "I have better things to do than babysit John Watson."  
"Madam Pomfrey thinks John might be dying."  
"Dying?" said Sherlock, only an arch of his eyebrow betraying his reaction. "And he wanted this dark lord by his side?"  
"Just come on."

"I'm sorry," croaked John. "I'm a prat."  
"You look awful," said Sherlock cheerfully. "Did you even read my notes?"  
"I read them all," said John carefully.   
"Charming! Then how did you fail in such a massive display of incompetence?"  
"I was-"  
"Idiotic!" yelled Sherlock. "Were you trying to get yourself killed?"  
"Mr. Holmes, you do realize you are in a hospital, speaking to a boy near death?"  
"Why, yes, Mrs. Pomfrey, I am aware I am in a hospital. A poorly equipped, dimly lit hospital. But John Watson is not near death. He has some broken bones and a concussion and a tendency for posturing and the overdramatic but he'll live. Mike and Bill don't have to honor the suicide pact now," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes. John was smiling as Madame Pomfrey stalked away furiously.   
"You watched the challenge," John said.   
"I watched a disaster occur. I'm off now, to go practice some dark wizard shit. Happy healing, John."  
"Sherlock, wait!" Sherlock paused and turned around. "Do you need something?"  
"Come here," said John. Sherlock came and awkwardly sat on the edge of the bed. "Come here," John said, urging Sherlock to come closer.   
"I love you too," said John, eyes glistening with tears.   
"Idiot," whispered Sherlock.   
"I hate when you're mad at me," said John.  
Sherlock brushed some hair away from John's forehead. John grabbed Sherlock and pulled him down to kiss him. The world stopped. Wars ended. Homeless people found housing. John forgot his own name.   
"Mr. Holmes! It is after hours and you can not stay here tonight!" yelled Madame Pomfrey from the door, seeing only two vague outlines in the dark.   
"Alright," said Sherlock snappishly. "I'll come back later," he whispered to John, who was now a helpless ball of desire and frustration, who wanted nothing more and who knew, with utter certainty, that Sherlock would return.


End file.
